


Midnighter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Date

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Dates, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Midnighter needs a hug, Murphy's Law, couples that kick alien butt together stay together, fuck that roger guy, not their first date but kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: Midnighter and Apollo go on their first date since getting back together. M wants everything to be perfect, but things don't always go to plan...





	Midnighter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Date

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely free-wondrous-astronomer for the prompt fill "don't you ever change" (the original can be found [here](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/post/175471703696/for-the-prompt-request-how-about-99-with/) )

 

M stands in front of the mirror and sighs. Blue or black? He holds each shirt up to his chest, the soft fabric rustling against his bare chest. Blue. Or. Black. Or maybe the burgundy? It draws out the red tones in his hair, but also the purple of the bruise across his brow. Maybe not the burgundy. He tosses the shirt and coat hanger onto the bed behind him. So now he's back to the other two shirts. Black or blue? 

God, it's like his first date all over again. His fingers leave a sheen of sweat against the coat hanger hooks. Why is he so nervous? It’s Apollo, the man who’s seen him at his absolute worst, why does it matter what colour shirt he wears? He looks down and sees a purple stain across the collar of the blue shirt. Well, black it is then. He slides the shirt across his shoulders, fiddling with the buttons. The shirt is done, tucked into his black slacks, now to work on the next task: the tie. 

His hands shake as he fumbles with the slippy fabric of the silk tie. Is it over, then under? Or does it cross underneath first? Shit. Maybe he should invest in a clip-on tie? But he’s never had this trouble before. Apollo knew how to tie them, he’d be the one fixing M’s mistakes with nimble fingers and a laugh that made M feel a little less incompetent. But no, he can’t do that this time. M needs to show Apollo that he’s better, that they can be together again seriously. And besides, he’s a grown man, surely he can tie a goddamn tie?

After his fifth attempt at knotting the tie he gives up, balling the fabric in his fist and tossing onto the bed with all the other discarded clothes. He should clean up, but he’s already running late. With a sigh he heads through the rest of the apartment, grabbing his coat and the bundle of flowers he had sitting in the kitchen sink, and calls a door.

He lands in the hallway just outside Andrew’s apartment, willing his hands not to shake. Flowers held behind his back, he takes a deep breath and heads down the hall. He’s about to knock on the door when Apollo opens it, looking like an absolute dream. White shirt, with the first three buttons undone, his hair glowing as it cascades down to his shoulders. “Hey.”

“You look good,” M says, allowing himself a small grin. “I got you these.” He pulls the bouquet from behind his back and hands them over, and is thanked with a sharp sneeze from Apollo. “You've got to be kidding me.” M mutters, running a hand across his face. Stupid. How could he forget?

Apollo laughs, sneezes, and laughs some more. “Come on,” he says, stepping out of the apartment and locking the door, “let’s go.” A doorway glows ready at the end of the hall. 

They land on the sidewalk outside the Italian restaurant M made reservations at. The restaurant is dark, the neon sign out front no longer it’s raucous red and green self. That’s not a great start.

“It says here they’re closed.” Apollo points to the window to the left. “Health and safety infringement? I guess we dodged a bullet.”

Shit. His mind races for a solution. Maybe an alternative? Good, he can do that, he can adapt. His night hasn’t quite gone to shit yet, it’s okay. “Okay, let’s go somewhere else.”

“There’s a nice Thai place a few blocks down,” Apollo says, taking M’s arm, “let’s try there instead.” M lets himself be led away, ignoring the niggling sting of embarrassment. They walk down the street, arm in arm, and the tension from that earlier hiccup starts to melt away at the warmth of Apollo’s touch. In just the space of a few blocks, M begins to feel lighter than he has in a long while. 

They make it to the restaurant Apollo suggested in no time. “Ah, Andrew,” the maitre de welcomes them as they enter, coming out from behind her desk to properly greet him with a kiss on the cheek. She eyes M up and down, and does little to hide her disapproval. “Where is Roger?”

M looks sharply at Apollo, who pales at the woman’s words. Roger? Who the fuck is Roger? “Erm, Roger and I aren’t together anymore. This is M.” 

M feels heat rise to his cheeks. He wishes he was wearing that stupid tie right now, anything to make him look that little bit better than whoever that ridiculous  _ Roger _ is. “Evening, ma’am,” M says and holds out his hand. The woman turns up her nose, though she does return the handshake. Hard. M smiles down at her with gritted teeth, a litany of curses just waiting to fall from his tongue. 

M waits until they’re seated before he ‘casually’ asks, “Roger?” with his eyes firm on the wines list in his white-knuckle grip. 

Tired, Apollo replies, “We weren’t together then, M. Leave it alone.” 

And M tries, he really tries, but whoever this fucking  _ Roger _ is, he evidently left a lasting impression on the restaurant staff. Three waiters and two kitchen hands come out to greet Apollo over the course of their meal, each sending dirty looks of varying degrees in M’s direction. He tries not to sulk over his meal, but Apollo keeps shooting him questioning glances. Of all the restaurants they had to end up at, it had to be this one. Perfect fucking Roger and his people skills; how is M meant to compete with that? 

They’re just about to order dessert when M gets a call, a tip-off about some arms deal. He scrubs a hand across his face; he can’t ignore it, as much as he would like to. Criminals have the worst goddamn timing. 

“What is it?” Apollo says, a small crease in his brow. 

M sighs. “Some extraterrestrials got their hands on some God Garden tech in Prague.”

There’s a low chuckle from across the table. “I guess you never get a night off.”

“I guess not. I-” he wants to apologise for running off like this, but a thought strikes him mid sentence. “Want to come with?” 

Apollo shrugs, “Sure.” It’s not the most enthusiastic partner he’s had on a mission, but at least he didn’t have to kidnap this one. Apollo calls a waiter over and M insists on paying the bill. Through grit teeth, he adds a decent tip, but he can still feel their disapproving gaze as they leave. 

M calls a door once they make it into the back alleyway, and they step into an old warehouse that could do with some bleaching. It’s a dirty fight, but it’s quick. They fight well together, always have, and it feels good to have Apollo at his back again. There are only a few goons on either side of the deal, humans and aliens, and together Apollo and he make quick work of them

It’s going well, until one assailant catches Apollo unaware. M sees it before it happens, panic washing over him. “Apollo!” M yells, throwing a rod of rebar like a spear directly at the alien, piercing through its chest. Green goo splatters across Apollo's aghast face, dripping from his glowing locks. The alien slumps to the ground at Apollo’s feet, twitching for a few seconds before growing still. M sighs in relief.

Apollo groans, a hand coming up to touch his face. “The hair? Why does it have to be be in my hair?”

M opens his mouth to apologise, and instead finds himself laughing. He slaps a hand across his lips, but it does little to stifle his laughter. Apollo will chew him out for it, but he can’t stop, it’s just too funny. 

“It's not funny,” Apollo tries, but he's losing the battle against the grin that tries to spread across his lips. “Okay, maybe a little.” He crosses the floor, floating over bodies, until he’s right in front of M. Even splatter in an unsightly shade of green, Apollo still looks like an utter dream. 

“C’mere.” M tugs at Andrew’s belt loops, pulling him forward until they're pressed hip to hip, chest to chest. “Hey you.”

Apollo wrinkles his nose. “I’m gross and covered in alien guts.”

But Midnighter just grins, “I don’t care,” his breath ghosting across Apollo’s lips. He waits there for a moment, rigidly still, and surely enough, Apollo bridges the gap between them, bringing their lips together. M’s hands slide around Apollo’s hips to slide up and down the blond man’s back. A warm hand cups his chin, and M melts into Apollo’s tender touch. This is what he wanted, this is what feels like home. 

Midnighter calls a door, hand sliding further and further down Apollo’s back. They land in M’s bedroom just as his hands reach Apollo’s waistband. Apollo quirks an eyebrow at their location, but doesn’t say anything, just leans in for another kiss. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, it’s  _ so fucking hot. _

M tosses Apollo lightly onto the bed, a cheeky grin stretching across his features. He crawls on top of Apollo, not caring about the green slime smearing across the pillows. M drops his weight further onto Apollo, who suddenly yelps in pain, twisting out of M’s arms and off the bed. 

“What the-” The offending weapon, a coat hanger, lies on the covers, unrepentant. 

Apollo scowls. “Could you at least clean up before you have company?” 

Truth be told, Midnighter didn’t think he’d get this far tonight, and now, it looks like he won’t get the chance again. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. M calls a door, utterly defeated and wanting to be anywhere other than near Apollo’s sad smile, the one he’ll wear when he tells M that no, they can’t do this anymore. “I’m sorry,” he says, raking a hand through his hair, “I keep fucking up. See you around, I guess.” 

He takes another step to the door, feeling like his boots are full of lead. Apollo calls out, “M, you don’t have to leave,” and Midnighter turns, hopeful, until Apollo adds, “it’s your place after all.”

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. M closes the distance between them, eyes wide and desperate. “I’m sorry, Andrew. Fuck. I just wanted tonight to be like how it used to be. I can do better, Andrew,” M pleas, taking both Apollo’s hands in his. “I can  _ be _ better.”

Apollo laughs and shakes his head. “I love you, just like this, okay? Don’t you ever change.” And with that, he pulls M closer and into a searing kiss. 

 

_ FIN _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Comments and Kudos are always welcome.
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on my [tumblr](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Nova xx


End file.
